Cast in Conflict

by Michelle Sagara

  “And when she leaves—without us—we’re in dereliction of duty. Helen has no way of letting us know if we’re not on Helen’s property.”

  “No, but—Mandoran can.”

  “Mandoran can what?” It was, of course, Mandoran.

  “You can come with us, and the cohort can let us know when Bellusdeo leaves.”

  “And if you’re halfway across the fiefs, how are you going to get back here in time to meet her?”

  “We won’t be halfway across the fiefs—we’ll be in Candallar. It’s not like we’re going to be exploring anywhere else. You know exactly where we’re going.”

  “Severn’s right. Emmerian isn’t your duty or responsibility. He’s way, way more self-controlled than you have any hope of being, and he’s also—in case it escaped your attention—a Dragon.”

  “Fine. You don’t have to come.”

  “I’ll tell Bellusdeo.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’ll be stuck in front of angry Bellusdeo.”

  “Yes, but she won’t stick around.”

  “I don’t want her to be angry at Emmerian.”

  “Emmerian, the Dragon, who has the best chance of surviving the full force of Dragon rage. Got it. You’re making as much sense as you usually do. Do you think Karriamis will hurt him?”

  “I don’t know. I would have bet against it—but...”

  “Emmerian lost his temper.”

  She nodded. “Helen contained it. I’m not sure Bellusdeo was happy about it, but, well—she was angry in her own way, so she might not have noticed it. He was angry at Karriamis. Even I noticed it. Karriamis almost certainly did. And if Emmerian does lose his temper, Karriamis can hurt—or kill—him.”

  “Helen?” Mandoran said, although the Avatar was not standing on the lawn.

  “Karriamis can hurt or kill him,” Helen said.

  Mandoran lifted his face to the sky as if pleading for some absent god to grant him patience. “You know, he always struck me as sane, rational and self-controlled. Like Severn. Fine. Fine.”

  “Sedarias is okay with you coming?”

  “Of course not. But she’s okay enough that she’s not storming out here to have words with Karriamis in person, and that’s about the best we can hope for. I think this is a waste of time.”

  “Betting?”

  “Fine.”

  “Stakes?”

  “I get to choose dinners for the next week, and Helen has to make them and you have to eat them.”

  “You’ll be eating the same thing?”

  “Of course.”

  “Fine. Done.”

  * * *

  “The thing I don’t understand,” Kaylin said, looking at the Tower of Karriamis—which was, for once, an actual Tower, not a cliff face or a cave, “is why he’d even come back here.”

  “You’re not sure he’s here?”

  “No, I’m sure he’s here—but only because Helen was relatively certain.”

  “He’s here for Bellusdeo’s sake,” Mandoran said. “That was Sedarias, by the way. I personally think it’s stupid.” He winced at what was likely Sedarias’s reply, but didn’t share it. “Don’t look smug—she thinks you’re stupid as well.”

  “So, like usual.”

  “No, she thinks you’re more oblivious than usual. Do you understand what Emmerian wants?”

  “I think he wants Bellusdeo to be happy. Or happier.”

  “Well, I for one agree with Sedarias. You’re clueless. Oblivious. Look—you were even there when Karriamis’s Avatar asked Emmerian whether or not he felt he could be the guardian of his people.”

  “And?”

  Mandoran turned to Severn. “You explain it.”

  Severn’s smile was a pleasant, very polite wall. “I believe there are doors just beyond this hedge wall; you can see the peak rising above them. Shall we knock?”

  “He knows we’re here,” Kaylin muttered.

  “Manners have very little to do with knowledge. He knows we’re here. He knows why; we are standing on land his Tower occupies and controls. Manners are rituals.”

  “We didn’t have to knock at the cave.”

  “No.”

  “So why now?”

  “Because there are doors.”

  They bounced a glance between each other, and Kaylin grimaced and nodded. She walked up to the door. Before she reached it, she felt the ground move under her feet. She looked down, and then back at the door with growing dread. Or resentment. “It’s not a door,” she said. “It’s a portal. And I think we activate it by knocking.”

  Severn moved to join her, but glanced at Mandoran.

  The Barrani shrugged. “A portal’s a door. It’s more complicated than your normal doors, but—it’s a door. Karriamis has to open it if you’re going to enter. I have no idea why portals make you sick. Sedarias says there are rumors that it affected some of our people—or our Ancestors—the same way, but none of us have any personal experience with people who react like you do.”

  “I’d love to know as well. Maybe it’s the marks of the Chosen?”

  “None of us have ever met anyone who’s Chosen before. Maybe. Does it matter? I don’t really care, except I don’t want you to throw up on my shoes. So—I’ll go last. Or first.”

  * * *

  “I wish to point out,” Karriamis said, as Kaylin found her feet, “that there are possible reasons for your allergy, as you incorrectly style it, to portals.”

  “Can I do anything about it?” she asked, still staring at the floor, although there were now feet in her limited view.

  “Some experimentation would have to be done, and I believe you also consider yourself allergic to some variants of magic?”

  A hand appeared. She hesitated, because she didn’t immediately recognize whose, which meant it was Karriamis.

  “Indeed. Unless you wish to remain huddled on the floor. In general, I would be considered a poor host if I did not attempt to alleviate your discomfort.”

  Given Bellusdeo’s first introduction, Kaylin was pretty certain that being seen as a poor host was not a huge concern for the Tower, but she accepted the hand he offered.

  The lights went out. She lost sight of the floor, of the stairs that rose from it, of Mandoran—and Severn. She didn’t lose sight of Karriamis because she was attached by the hand.

  “Your hospitality sucks.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “Recently?”

  “Yes. But it has been a lamentably constant theme throughout my existence. I did not become a Tower to make random strangers feel at home. And I feel that my hospitality is not lacking when compared to Durandel’s.”

  “Where are we?”

  “We are in the Tower.”

  “Where are Severn and Mandoran?”

  “I have left them in the front hall for the moment.”

  “They’re not going to be happy, and Mandoran isn’t going to remain there.”

  “He has incentive.”

  Kaylin froze. “Please do not tell me you threatened him with me.”

  “Not so bluntly, no. I am not completely oblivious. But I wish to speak to you without interference.”

  “Why?”

  He smiled. “You have perhaps come here in search of Lord Emmerian. No, do not let go of my hand. I do not consider it safe for you.”

  “And you’re worried about my safety.” She rolled her eyes.

  “In spite of your cynicism—and I will admit that there is possible reason for it—yes.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “I am taking you to where Lord Emmerian is currently contained.”

  Contained.

  “You will understand why when we arrive.”


  Kaylin—

  Don’t panic. You’ll just set me off.

  I won’t—you’re worried about Emmerian. I’m worried about you.

  If he meant to kill or hurt me, I’d be dead. We both know that.

  Mandoran’s not as sure.

  Tell him to stay where he is. Add “please” if it looks like he’s wavering.

  She felt Severn’s amusement. Beneath it, she felt his worry. He wasn’t angry yet.

  “I am afraid that at this moment I am not capable of reaching Emmerian; I believe you can.”

  Bellusdeo could.

  “Ah, no. At this moment I do not believe that would be in his best interests.”

  “His? Or hers?”

  “Either. You understand what her duties are.”

  Kaylin stiffened.

  “Perhaps you are too young to understand and accept them. But she does. And so does Emmerian. Tell me, do you think he would make a good partner for Bellusdeo?”

  “It’s not up to me.” Why is he asking me this?

  She felt Severn’s reluctance. Clearly, this was both personal and emotional—and it wasn’t his to talk about.

  I really think I need to know, given where he’s said we’re going.

  Bellusdeo needs to have babies if the Dragon race is to survive. Sooner is better than later, because if she dies the possibility is lost.

  Yes, I know that.

  She therefore needs to choose a partner with whom to have those children.

  Duh.

  Kaylin—

  Wait, you think it’s Emmerian? Like, Emmerian, who’s mostly almost invisible?

  I believe, he said, with care, that it is something that Emmerian desires, yes. Even if I am mistaken, it’s something Karriamis believes he desires.

  Emmerian doesn’t want to be captain of his stupid Tower!

  No. But Karriamis was a Dragon, and possibly still considers himself one.

  “I do.”

  He understands he has very few Dragons to work with, but... I think he’s attempting to ascertain if Emmerian is the right father for the children on which the race depends.

  But—but—that’s not up to him!

  Severn said nothing.

  It’s not. She tightened her grip on the Avatar’s hand. “It doesn’t matter what you think is best—the decision is Bellusdeo’s.”

  “I can remove him from consideration.”

  “Not even you would be that stupidly arrogant.”

  She could hear Severn inhale; could almost feel it.

  “Is that what you believe, Chosen?”

  He had stopped moving, or rather, stopped leading; he did not let go of her hand. But the marks on her arms failed to light up, failed to move; there were no clues to be gleaned from their behavior. “If you think it’s your decision, yes. That’s exactly what I believe.”

  “They are young.”

  “Emmerian’s not young. And Bellusdeo is almost as old as the chancellor. If by young, you mean, they don’t agree with how you think they should be living their lives, then yes. But so am I.”

  “She wants something from me that you do not want.”

  “After this? I’m pretty damn sure I’ll never want anything from you.”

  “Be that as it may. And I have something to offer her.”

  “You screw around with Emmerian and nothing on earth is going to persuade her to take it.”

  A slow, soft light began to lessen the darkness. “You are certain?”

  Something in his tone caused Kaylin to shut her mouth. She knew he could hear what she was thinking—and she knew most of it would possibly get her fired; it would certainly get her busted back down to permanent private, because in theory she was working, and the office had standards of behavior that personal life didn’t.

  Was she certain?

  Probably not. Part of Bellusdeo would never be separate from the war that had destroyed the life she’d built. “If you hurt him in any way,” she finally said, “she won’t negotiate. She has other ways of fighting this war. She doesn’t need you.”

  “And if I told you that my primary concern is not, in fact, this war—as you call it—at all?”

  Kaylin folded her arms. “I’m not the person who’s going to be making any decisions here. This is between you and Bellusdeo.”

  “And you would advise her?”

  To run screaming, but there was no chance that the gold Dragon would do any such thing. Kaylin was angry, and trying very hard not to be. “I wouldn’t dare unless she asked my opinion. She is never going to ask my opinion about this. Where is Emmerian?”

  “Here,” the Tower replied. “Can you not hear him?”

  She couldn’t. She couldn’t see him either. The light that had grown wasn’t so much light as...glowing fog; it rose steadily, but fog wasn’t generally great at revealing anything.

  “What do you want from her?” Kaylin asked.

  “Did you not just say that was none of your business?”

  “Yes.”

  He chuckled. “We will be family, she and I, should we reach an understanding. But I am not Helen, and in the end, more than she and I would dwell here. I am sentinel against Ravellon; there is no stronger protection. She is likely, given her proclivities, to require that protection.

  “But she cannot live here in an attempt to avoid or put off the responsibility she has to our people—the few that remain. If she is to live here, I will protect her offspring, may they be many.”

  “And decide who they’re the offspring of?”

  “Your grammar is atrocious. I will not argue with the conclusions you have drawn. I believe, however, you are impulsive and less observant than would be ideal. Perhaps you will grow into it in your short, mortal life.”

  Can I hit him?

  I don’t think he’d notice, but at this point, given everything else you’ve said, it can’t do more harm.

  You’re not worried.

  I’m less worried.

  Why?

  Severn didn’t answer.

  “Very well, Chosen. It appears Lord Emmerian does not wish to be seen. I will have to leave you to find him.”

  Mandoran says Bellusdeo’s coming. Sedarias tried to stop her.

  Kaylin groaned. Did Mandoran say the rest of the cohort is staying at home?

  Severn didn’t answer.

  “I consider that a very positive sign,” Karriamis said. “I understand that you consider it a disaster. It will be interesting to see which of us is proven correct.”

  He wouldn’t be hurt in either case.

  “Ah, Chosen. You are young. And you are wrong. But I must leave you now.” He turned back. “That boy missed his calling in life.”

  It took her a moment—well, several—to realize that that boy referred not to Severn but to Emmerian himself.

  “You are all young to me, but perhaps that is a product of my age; I see clearly if I focus, but I often fail to examine things that are neither of concern nor interest until it is perhaps too late.”

  * * *

  They’re all coming, aren’t they?

  Mandoran said Teela told them all to mind their own damn business, but with more colorful phrasing.

  So... Teela’s not coming.

  He didn’t say that. Have you found Emmerian?

  She shook her head. Still looking. Is Mandoran still with you?

  Yes. His tone implied worry. Kaylin was fine with this; it would keep Karriamis occupied. Not that that was necessarily a good thing; she remembered angry Emmerian wading into an argument in her own home. It had been the first time she’d had any hint that the Dragon lord had a temper.

  But everything Dragons did was larger than life. She reminded herself of this as she stared into fog. The marks on her arms remained flat and
lightless.

  She turned up the sleeve that covered her lower left arm. Closed her eyes. In theory, that should have made visibility worse, but the marks had never relied on sensible theory or she wouldn’t even have them. With her eyes closed she could see the faint luminescence of the runic shapes. They were a glowing gray, similar in some fashion to the light emitted by the fog.

  Ugh. She could see the fog clearly with her eyes closed. She wondered if this fog was similar to the fog that comprised the unrestricted outlands.

  It’s likely, Severn said. Also: Terrano’s already here. None of the rest of the cohort have arrived yet—I think he probably trailed after us when Mandoran left.

  I wonder if Tara will let them pass through.

  Mandoran seems to think they’re all avoiding Tiamaris. He didn’t because he was with us.

  Never mind. I don’t want to know. What I need to know now, she added, grimacing as she touched one rune and attempted to pull it off her skin—which was a lot less metaphorical than she’d’ve liked, is where the hell Emmerian is.

  If he were angry the way he was the other night, you wouldn’t have to ask.

  She nodded. This should have been a good sign. It certainly didn’t feel like it. If she found Emmerian and made it out of here, she was going to punch Karriamis.

  I wouldn’t advise it.

  No one would—but he said Emmerian is stuck here. And he can’t find him or at least can’t get him out. I don’t understand why. Helen could. I’m certain Helen could—she deals with enraged cohort members all the time.

  It’s pretty clear Karriamis doesn’t.

  Yes—but he was built to deal with Shadow. That’s worse, isn’t it?

  No. I don’t think he has to care whether or not Shadow, in whatever form the incursion takes, survives. Helen does.

  This didn’t make Kaylin any happier as the words sank roots. The implications made the situation far more dire. It wasn’t that the Emperor would blame her if Emmerian failed to survive; he wouldn’t. Nor would he blame Bellusdeo.

  She was almost certain Bellusdeo would blame herself. The gold Dragon wouldn’t blame Kaylin; Emmerian was a Dragon, so far above a corporal Kaylin was irrelevant. There was nothing she could face that he couldn’t.